


They Hate Me, Don't They?

by UnconsciousAndTired



Series: My Vent Fics [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Not Beta Read, Self-Doubt, Swearing, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnconsciousAndTired/pseuds/UnconsciousAndTired
Summary: Another vent fic, this one about my terrible anxiety.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: My Vent Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066736
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	They Hate Me, Don't They?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, as always, if anyone in the dteam want this down, it goes down.
> 
> Anyways, I wrote this in the span of the last two hours, so it might not be the best. Going back to edit just makes me feel weird, given the fact that this is for venting and not like,,, exposure? If that's the right word? But yeah, thanks for clicking ashjbsa

It’s the followback that sets Dream off this time.

He’d been so happy when he looked at the number on his phone -  _ 20M subscribers _

The pure serotonin that runs through his veins is indescribable; it makes him giddy with laughter, flapping his hands around like an idiot. It’s such a cliche thing to be excited about, but he smiles uncontrollably anyways. Who’s going to stop him? 

Taking a screenshot, Dream immediately switches to Twitter, already starting on a thread filled with appreciation for his fans. Every ounce of love and happiness seeps through his fingers, and into the tweet, just drowning it in all the good things he’s feeling. If not someone to love their fans, Dream is no one. 

If tears cloud his vision while he types, no one can attest to it.

Already on the eleventh tweet of the thread, he finally decided to finish his rambling. He can already see a typo in the last one, both from his lack of patience for proof-readinging, and the speed of his typing.

He’s just..  _ So giddy! _ Not even a year ago, he would’ve caught in a daydream about becoming anywhere close to a relevant youtuber, and now? Now he has  _ millions _ of people rooting for him, watching him, staying with him. Not only that, but some of the biggest people he’s ever watched -CaptainSparklez, Lil Nas X, CORPSE, JackSepticEye- are just sitting in his friends list, there to talk to at any point in time.

Dream’s just about to call George and Sapnap to scream about the news when he feels it. 

That indescribable feeling of excited energy being converted into adrenaline, and eventually,  _ panic. _

He’s never been sure why it happens, why that exhilarated feeling always becomes something to push him over that edge of an anxiety attack, but it does. Either way, his heart still beats harder -more haphazardly than before, acting as if it has some music producer to impress.

All it does is make him more aware of his breathing, quickly getting faster. 

There’s nothing quite like an anxiety attack, your heart, breath, and thoughts, weaving into one big braid of fight or flight. May it’s patterns strike beauty in the plots of sappy movies, and the brown hair of whatever teenage protagonist it features.

And he’s not even in full panic mode yet. It’s always a build up, never a head on collision. It starts with the realization of anxiety, growing and growing until Dream can’t even keep track of his own thoughts; all of them breaking off and bristling. 

_ If this ever happens again, don’t hesitate to get me, okay Dude? _

That’s right- Sapnap! He can go to Sapnap!

But should he? Dream doesn’t even know what he’s so worked up about, and even if he did, it’s probably something stupid -especially if he can’t pinpoint the reason right way. 

Because that’s how things work, right? At least, that’s what his dad always said. Whenever Dream would cry about something, it was just a constant cycle of  _ ‘What’s wrong?’ _ and  _ ‘If you don’t know why, you’re not actually upset.’. _

Though, his dad is often wrong.

It takes a few minutes -or at least what  _ feels _ like that long- but eventually Dream starts making his way to Sapnap’s room down the hall. He keeps his steps light, wary of the hallway’s threatening silence. Compared to everything in his head, it’s a lake of ice to his scalding fire. Hopefully he doesn’t melt anything.

His hand rests on the doorknob, the metal making that distinct creak of unwanted pressure. Ignoring the hidden metaphor, he turns it without knocking; the same thing he’s done hundreds of times before. Finally, pushing the old wood open-

-he finds Sapnap asleep.

Somehow, even with the snores of Sapnap filtering about, the silence sounds so much louder than before. And it’s saying a lot. 

It’s telling Dream that he isn’t needed here, that he shouldn’t have come, that this  _ must be a sign. _ Something to mark his loneliness, hidden beneath a veil of smiles on facetime, and laughing over calls. Every moment in time happens for a reason, and the only reason to come out of this one is self doubt.

Objectively, he knows it’s not true. He  _ knows _ those are all just things his anxiety is telling him, but somehow that knowledge… doesn’t feel entirely factual anymore. Afterall, if this is all just an act, he would’ve thought those exact things when he was under full conviction of it.

The reminders of significance and value feel like nothing more than sweet-talking in his ear. A sweet, sugar-coated, lie to keep him happy, under a ruse of falsities.

And it isn’t something to be romanticised, either. He’s not desperately longing for a real connection; he feels fucking abandoned by every thought that his friends like him. He isn’t looking wistfully at his ceiling, hoping for things to change someday; he’s trying to convince himself that life is still worth living so he doesn’t fucking down a bottle of pills.

It’s never been a pretty little picture to base a romance novella on. It’s  _ just _ pain. That’s all it’s ever been, and that’s all it ever will be. Glorified moments where some guy comes to wipe a tear off of someone’s face aren’t going to happen. Not like this.

Dream isn’t sure how he gets back to his room. Just that it’s filled with missteps and stumbling over the carpeted floor. He finds himself both thankful for Sapnap being a deep sleeper, and scornful of it. Which is wrong, Dream knows, but it’s hard to push down feelings that  _ thrash  _ so loudly. No matter how selfish they may be.

Does that make him a bad person?

Maybe.

He’ll just have to live with it.

  
  


It isn’t until he suddenly feels cold, that Dream realizes he’s starting to come down. His breathing is evening out, becoming deeper and slower; his heart is easing itself from it’s workload of pumping extra blood, and the tingling in his head is finally starting to ease up.

The braid of uncertainty and dread is finally unravelling. It leaves strands of what it once was behind, some of them falling to the floor in a mockery. A mess in his mind, all for him to clean up later.

Just more shit for him to deal with during another anxiety attack later.

His phone starts vibrating suddenly, an extremely close up picture of George’s face coming on fullscreen. It reminds him of what started this whole thing in the first place.

All it takes is a few deep breaths before he hits answer, George’s voice coming through immediately, “Dream! You hit 20 mill!”

“I know! I was just about to call you, not even two seconds ago,” Dream says with fake enthusiasm. 

Masking comes easy these days.

**Author's Note:**

> If you actually read this, thank you. It's literally just me complaining about my anxiety- like seriously, who has anxiety attacks about being happy?? It drives me insane.
> 
> Anyways, feel free to comment if you want, they were all really sweet on my last fic 🥺💜


End file.
